


Raincheck

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs and Jack get caught out in the rain. They find a motel. It has only one bed.





	Raincheck

**Author's Note:**

> This veers dangerously close to being out of character, but I couldn't help myself. :) It's such a well-worn trope that I had to see what I could bring to it that was different.

“They’ll be fine.”

He grumbled his concern away; his flexed fingers around the steering wheel the only indication the worry still lingered.

“They got a 30 minute head start,” Jack reminded him. “Plenty of time to avoid this.”

‘This’ was one of the worst rainfalls in the region’s history that came out of the blue and turned everything to black. McGee, Bishop and Torres left Fort Meade early enough that they were likely only 10 minutes out of city limits while Gibbs and Jack were in no man’s land between locations. Cell phone reception was down, so they could only hope they were right. The truck swayed slightly as it tried to cut through the gale that hammered the vehicle sideways and the windshield wipers were all for naught, their rapid ‘whipwhipwhip’ offering nothing more than the briefest glimpse into the endless night. The only thing keeping them on the road was the fluorescent road lines and Gibbs’ unwavering will. She reached over to squeeze his arm, both to reassure him and herself. He glanced over and saw the flicker of distress in her copper brown eyes and made a quick decision. 

“Hold on,” he told her, cautiously making a U-turn on the highway.

“What are you-”

“Saw a motel ‘bout a mile back. We’ll bunk for the night, head out first thing in the morning.”

She might have arched a sly eyebrow at the suggestion if the weather hadn’t made his idea a good, practical one. So instead, she simply nodded.

It was no surprise to find the parking lot completely packed with travellers who had also been caught out in the weather. The rain poured off the entrance overhang like a waterfall, the potholes like small pools. He held up his coat over them both, offering as much protection as he could until they reached the motel door. The cluster of bells announced their entrance and a young man looked up from his car magazine.

“Gotta room?” Gibbs asked, typically to the point.

The clerk stood up. “Some weather, huh?” The reply was a silent glare. “Uh, yeah, yeah, you’re in luck, actually. Last room.” He flicked what was likely the ‘No Vacancy’ sign on. “Two hundred dollars.”

Gibbs lowered his head to catch the gaze of the man who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Government rate?” he asked with a deadly calm while showing his badge and his gun.

“Oh! For sure! Eighty-eighty-five dollars.”

Reaching into his back pocket, Gibbs pulled out his wallet. “Thought so.”

Jack let her damp hair cover her amused expression while he took care of the bill, grabbed the key and waited at the door for her to step under the cover of his coat. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she couldn’t help but laugh at the image they must have made darting to the last room at the end of the lot. He tried to hold up his coat and unlock the door at the same time, and his frustration only made her laugh more. His body was warm against hers and she allowed herself to enjoy the contact and the feeling that came with it before reaching for his hand. 

“Let me.” Her hand curled over his fingers, stilling them and sliding the key into the lock. It turned with a satisfying click and they were in. 

He shook his coat outside the door, but gave up when he realized the futility of it. She turned on the nearest lamp and he tossed the coat on the chair that came with the desk. Habit made him check the bathroom and single closet and he turned to see her grin.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, her voice innocent and light. “I’ll sleep so much better.” Ignoring his narrowed eyes, she went on, “I’ll take the couch.”

He barked out a laugh. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Your chivalry is commendable, Gibbs. But I am not sleeping on some middle of nowhere motel mattress. I can only imagine the things that thing has seen.” Her wrinkled nose painted a pretty good picture.

“So you want me to sleep on it?”

Jack shrugged and fluttered her eyes. “Chivalry? Besides, my back couldn’t take it.”

He might have argued, but the mention of an old injury softened his stance. Not that his back would find any more comfort than hers, but he’d be damned if he’d purposely cause her pain. “Fine. But I get the shower first.”

Stretching and yawning, she waved him towards the bathroom. “Go.”

…..

He wasn’t gone as long as he threatened, but he was gone long enough for her to find the sports channel on the 30 year old TV, pull an extra blanket out of who knows where, and fall asleep on the couch. Using the blanket as an excuse, he gently brushed back her hair and enjoyed the rare moment to catch her unguarded before pulling the cover up to her chin and turning off the light. The bed was as uncomfortable as he had imagined, squeaking under his weight, and out of the 100s of shapes that had left indentations in the mattress, none seemed to fit his. He lowered the volume on the TV but left the images on, flickering light in the dark room while he tried to get some shut-eye.

…..

The rain continued to come down with a furious wind, lashing against the building and whistling through the neglected cracks. Gibbs had long given up trying to sleep, and there was a part of him that admired the woman on the couch who hadn’t moved since he’d turned off the light. He wondered if the military had trained that into her or just her nature. God knows the Marines tried it with him, but only the hum of the cargo planes could ever really lull him to sleep. The sports recap was coming around for the 5th time when he’d finally given up. With the light of the TV, he made his way to the couch.

“Jack,” he whispered, leaning over.

A hand came out of the blanket and blindly patted around until it felt his face.

“Yeah, baby?”

Gibbs let the greeting settle between them, enjoying her off-kilter sleep-talk. She must have felt the grin under her hand because her voice was clearer when she said, “I was dreaming about Daniel Craig. This better be good.”

“I need you to move.”

The hand dropped and she pushed herself up on her elbow. Still half asleep, her eyes squinted as she looked around in the semi-dark. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Can’t sleep.” Seeing her confusion remain, he made a shooing motion with his fingers. "I need you to move over."

"On the couch?"

He blamed the obviousness of the question on her sleep. "Yeah. The couch."

She blinked and squinted, then blinked and squinted again. Whatever retort was on her lips was put on the shelf and she flopped back onto the couch. "Fine. But you're little spoon."

"I'm what?"

Pressing as far back as she could, creating all of 8 inches of space, she repeated, "Little spoon. You get the edge of the couch. I'll make sure you don't fall." Hearing his snort, she said, "Oh, no, you're not giving me that." She mimicked his sound, more awake now. "You think I'm trusting you after that team building exercise?"

His snort turned into a chuckle. "There was a net."

"So you _do_ admit to dropping me on purpose."

"Never said I didn't."

"One day, your brutal honesty is going to get you in trouble, Little Spoon. Make a decision because I'm going back to sleep."

Her eyes closed, leaving him with only two choices, and the bed wasn't much of one, especially given his other option. Tugging the edge of the blanket up, he angled into the space she gave him, and she waited until he was as settled as he was going to get before she curled her arm around his midsection and tucked her hand underneath him. While he expected it (it's what he would've done), he realized he wasn't _ready_ for it. Somehow he hadn't given thought to her soft curves pressed into him or her warmth permeating into his back like a comfort. And he really wasn't ready for her bare leg to hook over his thigh. (He definitely wouldn'tve done _that_. Think about it, sure. Do it? Hell, no.) Of course it made sense that she had undressed- even with the rain and damp clothes aside, they weren't going to sleep fully clothed. He himself was in his boxers and undershirt, though in hindsight, leaving that much of his skin uncovered, to be covered by hers, might not have been the best idea he'd ever had.

_It was the greatest._

He rebuked his subconscious and ordered the rest of him to go to sleep.

…..

Her bladder called but she didn't want to answer. The rain had settled to a soothing drum on the roof and the body halfway under hers was better than any mattress she'd ever had. Warm and solid, yet gave in all the right places. She nuzzled into the space between his shoulder blades and filed away his smell and feel and the soft sound of his breathing. Having shared sleeping arrangements with teammates, colleagues and Army buddies in the past, she knew she was so far passed the boundaries of protocol that she was practically 5 states over. But she didn't care. Besides, those had always been beds. This was a couch. Who knew what the protocols were? And if he was going to nestle into her, loop his leg with hers and lace their fingers together, she was damn well going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

Which was going to be about another 60 seconds before her bladder protested too much.

Reluctantly, she extracted herself from a hold that wasn't willing to relinquish itself. Grinning, she dared to kiss him behind his ear before whispering, "Trip to the head, Marine."

He mumbled his sleepy understanding and let her go. Using the arm of the couch and her bladder's insistence, she swung a leg over him, her toes wiggling for the floor and tried not to notice she was straddling his hip. Of course, even in his state, her plight didn't go unnoticed. 

"Coulda bought me dinner first."

She slapped his arm and used his shoulder for leverage. "Ass."

To her, it was an admonishment, to him, it was something to appreciate as she walked away, the television light illuminating things just enough.

"Eyes off my six, Gunny."

Getting caught only made him laugh and roll onto his back.

…..

“I knew it,” she whispered, standing in the bathroom doorway, looking at the couch and its sleeping occupant. She had hoped when she returned that he’d be in the same spot she left him, but she didn’t have _that_ much hope. Sure enough, the bastard had rolled back and took over the couch. He had the gall to be lightly snoring. With a quietness he didn’t deserve, she tiptoed to the couch and kneeled.

“Gibbs.” When no answer came, she knew she had to try it at least once. “ _Jethro_.”

A hand came out of the blanket and blindly patted around until it felt her face.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

She remembered their earlier encounter and mock laughed. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be.”

His hand didn’t drop as hers had done, and she was momentarily caught off-guard by his candor. She was still trying to put some kind of meaning to his words when he laid out his left arm and said, “C’mon, Small Spoon.”

“It’s ‘Little Spoon’, and I already told you what I think of that idea. The floor’s hard, Gibbs. There’s no net.” She tried to avoid getting lured in by his smile. _Fool me once_ , she thought. But she couldn’t entirely resist the honey-gravelled voice.

“I won’t let you fall. Promise.”

It wasn’t just his history of dropping her 6 storeys that made her pause. It was her inability to figure out what the hell was going on, with him, with her, with them. And considering it was her damn job to figure these things out, it made her feel even more nervous about flying blind.

“It’s just sleep, Jack.”

_Technically,_ he wasn’t wrong. But when she slipped under the blanket and into his arms, when he curled around her to fulfill the promise he just made, when he tucked her in tightly, that was something more than ‘just sleep’. The way her body reacted to him was more than ‘just sleep’. And the way his body reacted to hers was _definitely_ more than ‘just sleep’. Still, she could hear him trying to regulate his breathing even as she shifted backward.

“Just sleep, Gibbs.”

“Yep,” was all he could say.

He decided he must be a masochist. Not that he didn’t already know that when it came to women, but it was usually in a bad way- staying late when the wife said to come home early, bringing the work phone to a family function, leaving the toilet seat up. It was always something akin to dancing with the devil. But with her, it was a different kind of wickedness; it was a denial of pleasure that he caught himself seeking out again and again- leaning in just a little more to catch the perfume he could now pick out in a dark room, standing just a little too close so that his hand ‘somehow’ brushed up against hers. Pulling her just a little too tightly into his body that was all too willing to push back. To give as much as it was taking. He forced his hand to stay tucked under her waist, forced his legs to not cover her completely, forced other things to-

“Are you disassembling an M40?”

He didn’t realize his whispers were loud enough for her to hear, though he shouldn’tve been too surprised, considering his mouth was housed behind her ear to prevent it from going any farther south. 

Rather than answer her question, he asked one of his own. “How did you know it was an M40?”

She knew any pretense they might have hid behind up to now was long gone, if it was even remotely plausible in the first place. They weren't teenagers unfamiliar with how the dance worked between two people attracted to one another. She was in her underwear and tank top, for God's sake. He was pressed up behind her in his boxers. Insistently pressed.

"Boy likes his gun. Girl likes her boy." She shrugged at the obviousness of her logic. Though she said it with confidence, she didn’t quite have enough of it to turn around. 

"How much?" he whispered into her ear.

Was that the tiniest bit of uncertainty in _his_ voice?

Emboldened by his question, she lightly hypothesized, "Oh, I think he likes his gun a _lot_."

He rolled her over and covered her with his body, ignoring her protesting squeal. "How much?" 

Though he had the upper hand, it felt like she was the one in control, because when she arched her back to press into his chest, he felt powerless.

"Also a lot," she grinned, and waited for the kiss she knew was coming. 

He didn’t disappoint. 

Things went from playful to serious in a heartbeat, and they were both glad for it. They were too old to play games, too tired of being burned. The only heat on offer here was the one between them, between their mouths, their hands and their bodies. His fingers, blessedly calloused from years of woodworking, lightly scratched under her tank top and played a sensuous promise on her ribs. She hooked her leg around his waist to hold him close and to make a promise of her own, and it was one he accepted with a low groan and a slow press into her. The TV lights flickered on the ceiling, only adding to the dream-like spell his touch had put her under. 

“Wait.”

He immediately lifted his head from the map his mouth was drawing on her throat. Blue eyes met brown, not unconcerned, but unsure. He didn’t have to ask because he knew she’d continue once the words took shape in her head.

“Not on a shitty motel couch.” 

Resting his chin between her breasts, he agreed with a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Your couch is just fine, though.”

She almost mistook the shake of his head as a bad thing, until he said, “Rather have you in my bed.”

The blunt honesty didn’t surprise her in the slightest and she rubbed her fingertips over the short-cropped bristle behind his head. “Raincheck?”

When he rolled his eyes at the pun, she used his moment of distraction to twist from underneath him and reclaim the inside of the couch. 

“Ha! Roll over, Little Spoon. We’ve got 2 more hours of shut-eye.” 

His glower rolled off her back like the rain on the roof, but when she curled up and over and on him, he really couldn’t complain.

…..

-end


End file.
